The Daughter of Anderson Crow eBook

With a perseverance that spoke well for the detective’s
endurance, but ill for his intelligence, the “bob”
sped along aimlessly. It was ridiculous to think
of tracking a sleigh over a well-travelled road, and
it was not until they reached the cross-roads that
Harry Squires suggested that inquiries be made of
the farmers in the neighbourhood. After diligent
effort, a farmer was discovered who said he had heard
the sleigh bells at midnight, and, peering from his
window, had caught a glimpse of the party turning
south at the cross-roads.

“Jest as I thought!” exclaimed Anderson.
“They went south so’s to skip Boggs City.
Boys, they’ve got her body er ’Rast’s
body er that other feller’s body with ’em,
an’ they’re skootin’ down this pike
so’s to get to the big bridge. My idee
is that they allowed to drop the body in the river,
which ain’t friz plum over.”

“Gee! We ain’t expected to search
all over the bottom of the river, are we, Anderson?”
shivered Isaac Porter, the pump repairer.

“I ain’t,” said the leader,
“but I can deputise anybody I want to.”

And so they hurried on to the six-span bridge that
crossed the ice-laden river. As they stood silent,
awed and shivering on the middle span, staring down
into the black water with its navy of swirling ice-chunks,
even the heart of Anderson Crow chilled and grew faint.

“Boys,” he said, “we’ve lost
the track! Not even a bloodhound could track
’em in that water.”

“Bloodhound?” sniffed Harry Squires.
“A hippopotamus, you mean.”

They were hungry and cold, and they were ready to
turn homeward. Anderson said he “guessed”
he’d turn the job over to the sheriff and his
men. Plainly, he was much too hungry to do any
more trailing. Besides, for more than an hour
he had been thinking of the warm wood fire at home.
Bill Rubley was putting the “gad” to the
horses when a man on horseback rode up from the opposite
end of the bridge. He had come far and in a hurry,
and he recognised Anderson Crow.

“Say, Anderson!” he called, “somebody
broke into Colonel Randall’s summer home last
night an’ they’re there yet. Got fires
goin’ in all the stoves, an’ havin’
a high old time. They ain’t got no business
there, becuz the place is closed fer the winter.
Aleck Burbank went over to order ’em out; one
of the fellers said he’d bust his head if he
didn’t clear out. I think it’s a gang!”

A hurried interview brought out the facts. The
invaders had come up in a big sleigh long before dawn,
and—­but that was sufficient. Anderson
and his men returned to the hunt, eager and sure of
their prey. Darkness was upon them when they
came in sight of Colonel Randall’s country place
in the hills. There were lights in the windows
and people were making merry indoors; while outside
the pursuing Nemesis and his men were wondering how
and where to assault the stronghold.